She was getting expert now.
"Along the ditch, I do believe," agreed Tim. There were no flowers in
it, and few, perhaps, would have found beauty there, yet the pointing
of the reeds was unmistakable. "It's chock full of stuff," he added,
"but a rat could get along, so I suppose--"
"The signs are very slight sometimes," murmured the Tramp, his head
half buried in the moss, "and sometimes difficult as well. You'd be
surprised." He flung out his arms and legs and continued laughingly.
"When things are contrary you may be sure you're getting somewhere--
getting warm, that is."
The children heard this outburst, but they did not listen. They were
absorbed in something else already, for the movements of the reeds
were fascinating. They began to imitate them, swaying their heads and
bodies to and fro in time, and crooning to themselves in an attempt to
copy the sound made by the wind among the crowded stalks.
"Don't," objected Uncle Felix, half in fun, "it makes me dizzy." He
was tempted to copy them, however, and made an effort, but the
movement caught him in the ribs a little. His body, like his mind, was
not as supple as theirs.
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